1989
by wormstachios
Summary: A collection of Caroline drabbles inspired by Taylor Swift's latest album. Will contain Steroline, Klaroline, Enzoline & some Caroline by herself. Rated M because of language.
1. Welcome to New-York

Caroline, safe and warm under her white winter coat, breath hitting against her scarf, tried to warm her hands by rubbing them vigorously together. She was walked, purposefully, down the streets, eyes looking everywhere at once, but her hear was set on her destination.

This was it. This was her new beginning. This was her happy ever after, coming after all the crap she'd been through and all the horrible things that happened to her. She shook her head, unwilling to remember. She wouldn't break down, not any more. She needed to be strong, now.

People were rushing past her, and Caroline wondered how many had, like her, left their home town for the Big Apple, in search of that little thing that was more than life, chasing dreams and goals and hopes. She listened to their heartbeats as they passed her, and she enjoyed how they echoed the sound of her heels on the pavement.

And the, suddenly, there it was. She had only had to turn the right corner, take the right street, and she was there. Time Square. Maybe not the heart of New-York – it had too many of them for that – but certainly a thing of beauty. She grinned, her eyes wide open despite the lights and the colors and the flashes, trying to take it all in before they watered. She chased the ads, the billboards and the posters, felt the New-Yorkers – always trying to get somewhere, never once stopping to think about where they were – passing her without a glance, and she laughed merrily. She made it. It took her all these years and all of her savings, but she made it. She was there.

She had left Mystic Falls only yesterday, broken-hearted and miserable, but she refused to look back. She couldn't look back. She'd found herself feeling the horror of it all over again, and she was sure she couldn't handle the second time. She was there now. None of what mattered before mattered now. The Miss Mystic Falls pageant. The Student Council. Prom. None of it was her problem any more. All that was important now was who she could be. What she wanted out of life.

It's true, she had nowhere to live. No job. No previous experience. But she would make it. She would live, finally, and stop worrying about wars and vampires and witches and the dead back to life. She repeated it to herself : _none of this is your problem any more. You have done your time, you have lost more than your fair share, it's your turn now to be selfish_. She closed her eyes, taking in all the things happening around her. The tourists, the smell, the noise. The never-ending noise of the City that Never Sleeps. It was a good thing that it never slept, too, for Caroline had too many things to discover, to try out, to enjoy. So many possibilities and opportunities were opening up for her. She wanted to grab them all, starting with the one opportunity that smiled up at her.

"Hello, gorgeous."

Her eyes flew open in response, and there he was. The reason why she had had the guts to leave everything behind was looking at her with a lopsided grin that she loved and hated at the same time. He had pushed her to come, but she had been dumb enough to believe that he wouldn't follow her. That he would stay with his best friend and torture the good brother. She had counted on the torture, but apparently, he had not. She crossed her arms and observed him silently.

Unlike the man she was running away from, Enzo had actually been there for her these past months. When Bonnie didn't come back. When Stefan was nowhere to be found. When all hope crumbled around her like dust. When she had had to consider killing someone and losing that part of herself, he had taking the choice away from her and did it himself. Sure, he had motives, too. But he did it. Enzo had been there through all of it and more, holding her hand and taking care of her. Weirdly, she had found herself enjoying his company. She had never thought in a million years she would : he was loud, he had a murderous side, he was rash. But he also was funny, he was witty, he was brave, he was dangerous. They would argue for hours, but in the end, they always found common ground. She noticed the bag at his feet, and understood that he was there to stay.

"No hellos for me, then ? Fine, be this way. But I'm not leaving your side either way, Blondie."

He took both their bags in one hand and hauled them over his shoulder, offered her his arm.

"Ready to live it up, then ? I found us a great place. You're going to love it."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, but a smile found its way to her lips anyway. She was grateful for Enzo, for their friendship, for the future she hadn't believed she wanted. As he walked her – she had taken his arm, something she had never believed she could do – through a maze of streets and corners and buildings, Caroline took in all that she could : sights, smells, atmosphere. The City was filling her up with warmth, even though it was freezing out, and the guy at her side helped a great deal.

But it wasn't until Enzo stopped in front of a huge brownstone that Caroline knew she would be more than all right. He turned to her, said "Welcome home, gorgeous." - she had hated that nickname at first, but now owned it one hundred percent – and smiled. And when she smiled back, nudged him with her shoulder and rushed past him to open the door, Enzo understood that he, too, would be more than all right.


	2. Blank Space

It all had started out innocently enough. Well, as innocently as Enzo could get, anyway. He had heard about her, heard about the presumptions and the cold exterior, and about how she had turned the big bad hybrid wolf into an infatuated lapdog licking her hands and fattening her ego. He had been told of her smiles and her goody-goody attitude, and he was informed that, underneath the dreamy, angelic face, she was nothing but a nightmare waiting to happen. And he couldn't wait to meet her.

To see if he could get her to lick and love, too. See if he could succeed when Klaus had not.

He hadn't realized she was going to do the same to him.

They had met at an empty time, in an empty space, a spark igniting his soul. She looked at him once, her eyes wandering on his face and body, and a small smile spreading her lips.

_The Enzo._

She had him categorized in a second, not knowing any more about him than his name and reputation, and his pride pushed him to seduce her. To get her to know him. Show how good, how luscious he could be.

It was all sizzling looks and brief touches at first, a mix of compliments and judgements, all play and no work; he felt her entice him with her light and watched as she surrounded herself with his own darkness. He watched her fight her attraction as his grew bigger and bigger, and, every time she pushed him away, he would only come back stronger. He killed a witch so that she could save her friend, murdered a man so she wouldn't have to. And when she grew resentful, he only grew more beguiled.

He couldn't tell what attracted him to her, but he knew that, in the rare moments when her guard was down, she was a real, kind-hearted person who liked to make bad choices when it came to men. Her latest bad choice was the boring Salvatore brother, Stefan; he had smelled it on her the minute he saw them together. But she chose Enzo to be her new mistake, her new story : she took his hand, and she took his heart, and when he took her to bed, she rewarded him a thousand times.

Their late nights getaways were magic waiting to happen; long, sweaty sessions between heaven and sin where she would cry out his name over and over as her legs wrapped around his waist. He couldn't get enough of her, never get enough of how she would make him crave the soft touch of skin against skin and lips against lips; he was mad and she was his cure. It was a high like he had never felt before, an insanity they shared for hours on end where no one could get to them, where no one would hear or see.

She would act, whenever people were around, like they were nothing but vampires forced to socialize to please their friends. She'd fight him when he stole kisses from her in empty corridors and when he made her come in dark closets, she'd protest when he called her gorgeous or when he showed how well he knew her. She was a horrible person by day, an ardent and assiduous lover by night. She scarred him with her lies, hurt him with her dismissal : Enzo hated it, but he bore it all the same; he knew she would more than make up for it when he could get her alone. He only had to wait.

They had breakfast where other couples had dates, they had passionate, violent fights when others said, 'I love you', and they tore each other apart when they only wanted to fall together. It was an horrifying game she forced them to play under the pretence of only being friends, but he played it with all his heart. He certainly did come back to her every time .. "You're my King", she'd whisper in his ear when he would deny her her sweet release, "Make me your Queen." And so he would move again, and, thrust after thrust, would make her beg for more, and her fingers would dig on his back, leaving awful long scratches that made him wince whenever he moved.

And when he would dream of her at night, in his head she had him on his knees and she wore the crown. He'd wake up breathless, only to seek comfort in her arms again. She never denied him anything, except for public affection, but, little by little, she changed him into the good person he once were. He helped her look for the man she loved, even when he knew he would lose her altogether, and he helped her get him back. She could make him do all that she wanted, and he could never say no; but she never did ask for something he could not do. He was a distraction, a way to forget about all the wrong things in her life, and he would kiss back the tears and she put his soul back together. They were good, they were awful, but they could not do without the other.

He tried leaving, more than once, and she found him back in her room every time. She never asked him if it was worth it, all of it, to hurt this bad but feel this good; but he saw it in her eyes when she would kiss away the pain. She never asked him if he wanted more, nor did he ever mentioned that he longed for it : to them, this was the perfect hideaway. A parenthesis where their life didn't matter, nothing did; nothing but the rush and the pleasure, and her moans in his ear. And in the morning he would slip away without a sound, more than happy to know that she would welcome him back that very night.


	3. Style

And there she was again. Even after five long years, after hard battles and small victories, after shame and youth and innocence lost, there she was again.

Stefan Salvatore.

Even his name sounded like the merry-go-round she always found herself back on. And around and around and around she went, tirelessly, forever, until he stopped it with harsh words and rash moves. And yet, however far or however long she ran, she always came back to him. Or, rather, her heart did. She had tried to hate him, she had tried to be his friend, but she had never wanted this. She had never wanted to wake up one morning and realize that she was in love.

It had hit her in the chest, cut off her oxygen, opened her eyes. _She had never wanted this_.

She had had a crush on him when they met – _and of course she had, because how could she not ? He was Stefan Salvatore_ –, but only because she saw him as fresh meat in an otherwise stale environment; and, at that point in her life, she had crushes on almost any boy who looked at her. Who saw her. It had been her way of saying _I exist. You look at me, you see me, I exist. I am here. I am alive_. But Stefan hadn't been looking at her, not really, she knew that now ; he was looking at her friend Elena. Sweet, gentle Elena who liked books and adventures. Sweet, gentle Elena whose parents died in a car crash. Sweet, gentle Elena who was queen at her prom and captain of her cheer squad. And recipient to his affection. Caroline's heart shattered.

And then came her dark days. Well, darker days.

She had been so scared of what she was becoming, had felt so alone with this new life, and he had took her by the hand and had helped her through the motions. Had helped her find herself when she was lost, had listened when she needed to scream, had made jokes when she needed to laugh. And, as stealthily as he had become her best friend, her compass and her rock, he had become the man she loved. The man she wanted.

Of course, throughout their friendship, she found herself attracted to him more than once. She had little crushes that came and went whenever she saw that he was a good, beautiful person that tried to help whoever needed him. He was generous. And kind. And funny. And steady, and romantic.

She had always known those things about him, and that was what she used to love most. That was her drive when he found himself needing her. That was their dance : he needed her, she put him back up, and he did the same for her when she called. They knew and appreciated each other. He loved her craziness, she loved his heart.

Now, however, now she noticed how he leaned on the walls and crossed his arms. She noticed the tight shirt and the hair, she noticed the eyes, and the stare.

And she noticed the smile. That was what she liked most, now : the Stefan Salvatore bright smile, and the goofy grin, and the sly smirk. She catalogued them as she catalogued the attitude, kept all her observations in her heart and pretended not to care when he overlooked her for other girls. She'd only whisper it to him late at night, whispered that she'd heard of it, heard of the hook-ups and bloodthirsty nights, that she'd seen it, seen him with them, all of them. And he'd only respond with a smile and a kiss, a soft and vague reassurance that he'd always go back to her.

And she stayed. Even when she could have walked away, moved on, got out of this horrible town. Of course she stayed. She did it because she knew that he would come back to her eventually, that he would see she was the one still there, always there, after everything, and she never resented him his flaws or his girls.

She stayed because she saw the looks he gave her when she wore her tight dresses and her blood lipstick. She stayed because of his kind words, his hot stares, his nightly visits to her house, when her mother slept and everything felt silent and dead. She stayed when he left, stayed through the heartbreak and the long search for his brother, stayed as he started a new life without her, without caring a thing about how she felt. But she stayed.

Because she saw everything for what it was now.

She had called it friendship and now knew it to be love, real, pure love that she couldn't hide any more.

It ate her alive and woke her senses. Everything was more colourful, brighter, edgier. More dangerous. She took his crap, hoping he'd come back home. He took her heart, wishing he was somewhere else. And yet she was still there when he called.

She couldn't help herself, no matter how much she tried. He was magnetic, a push and pull she couldn't ignore. Even through all of the pain, he was still the one thing she held on to, the one dream she could see herself realize.

And so she waits. She knows she should do something, knows she should talk to him, to anyone, but she can't. She lacks the courage. Lacks the will. She is too afraid she will lose him, his friendship, or even his presence. Afraid he is going to bail on her like he bailed on some of his girlfriends. Caroline feels trapped inside a dream of the two of them together, of white t-shirts and warm smiles, of red lipstick on a collar and a good girl gone bad.

And the worst part of it all is, she is starting to like it.


End file.
